


The Guilt Stalking Us

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Catharsis, Guilt, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: Fëanor locks himself inside his study after his reembodiment.Maedhros' brothers may believe their father no longer trusts them, but Maedhros knows the truth.
Relationships: Background Fëanorian OT8, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	The Guilt Stalking Us

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a 100 words of spanking the boss/dad prompt on FFA. 
> 
> Also my 300th fic posted on Ao3, which feels like a milestone.

“Atar,” Maedhros said as he shoved the door to the study open. “This must stop.”

Fëanor looked up briefly from the book in his hands - Maedhros knew without even looking that it was yet again his father’s copy of Pengolodh’s accursed history of the Noldor, spine bent and falling open at the descriptions of their family’s deaths.

“Nelyo,” Fëanor said, turning his attention back to the book.

It was, perhaps, a greeting. It could also be his father’s latest attempt to dismiss him, trying to get him to leave him alone as the others had.

“Enough.” Maedhros grabbed the book from his father’s hands, tossing it against the wall where it landed with a dull thud. He wished he could burn it, or soak it in a basin of water until the pages curled and disintegrated into nothingness.

“Nelyo.” Fëanor sighed. “I must-“

“The others think you are disappointed in them. Curvo fears you hate him.” Maedhros noted his father’s flinch and continued. “We love you. We have loved you as a father and as a lover, and yet now that we are finally all returned, even Makalaurë, you turn from us.”

“I do not hate any of you, nor am I disappointed in any save myself. None of you would have needed to be returned if I had not led you to your deaths.” Even as he spoke, Fëanor’s eyes turned to where the book lay on the ground.

“And so you seek to punish yourself by dwelling on our deaths. I am surprised you did not ask Vairë for the -“

Fëanor flinched again.

“You asked her for the tapestries depicting our deaths?” Maedhros knew he should not be shocked. His father’s tendencies towards obsession had led them down this path, and yet -

“She brought it to my attention that I could not ensure that none of you would be stumble across such if I held them here, and I did not wish to make any of you view them.” Fëanor continued to look at the book on the ground, though he made no attempt to regain it.

“Why, Atar? Why would you do such things to yourself?” Maedhros took a step closer, then sat in the chair next to his father. Fëanor tensed, as Maedhros carefully leaned wrapped an arm around his father.

“I must account for my failings,” Fëanor finally said. He held himself still and tense, not moving closer to Maedhros in any way.

Still, he was not moving any further away, either. Maedhros decided to count that as a victory as he continued to think on what to do.

“If you wish punishment, I shall gladly give it to you, if you will only renounce this room afterwards and join us once more.” Maedhros ran a hand through his hair as he made his decision. The room descended into silence, neither elf speaking for a time. 

“Yes,” Fëanor’s voice was quiet enough that Maedhros could barely hear it.

“What?”

“If you punish me, I shall give up this.” Fëanor met his eyes.

Maedhros wondered at the expression in them, fear and despair mixing and clouding his father’s eyes. This may have been a horrible idea, but then again, it could never be the worst idea any of them had ever had.

Maedhros nodded. “I will. Just let me think of a punishment.”

“You could-” Fëanor’s eyes darted towards the book again.

“I am not Morgoth, and I shall not punish you by reenacting any of our deaths,” Maedhros said immediately.

Fëanor nodded.

“Push down your leggings and bare your bottom.” Maedhros finally decided on, after several fraught moments in which neither of them spoke.

“Nelyo?” Fëanor questioned, even as he stood and began to bare his lower body.

“You shall not be content with anything but physical pain to draw you out of your thoughts, and I shall not be content with anything that brings too much harm.” Maedhros watched closely as his father paused briefly at his words before resuming his prior actions. He had chosen right, than. “Lay down across my lap. Keep a count as I spank you.”

Fëanor nodded, placing himself across his son’s lap.

For a moment, both of them were still. Maedhros held his breath, muscles tensing as he considered what he would do next.

Then he left out a breath, bringing one hand down across Fëanor’s buttocks as he held his father steady with the other.

“One,” Fëanor gasped out.

Maedhros wished they could stop at that, but his father’s thoughts were clear to him. Fëanor would not be content with this, would not accept their forgiveness with just this.

He lifted his hand again, bringing it steadily down.

“Two.”

“Three.”

So it went, until Maedhros feared his hand would give out ere his father was able to accept this punishment as enough.

Then Fëanor’s voice caught on the next strike. “Nel-“

Maedhros felt his father’s tears soaking into his pants and stopped. Fëanor continued to weep silently for a moment, a faint quiver in his shoulders and the tears that fell against Maedhros’ pants the only signs visible to others.

He waited for his father’s tears to slow. They were finally at an end to this portion of his father's guilt. Maedhros could afford to give him a moment of peace before they dealt with the rest.

When the tears finally seemed to be at an end, Maedhros pulled him up and into a kiss. “Please, Atar, never again.”

“Never,” Fëanor agreed, leaning against his son and brushing the tears from his own face. “I feel as though-”

He did not finish, but Maedhros could fill in the rest. Relieved that they had finally crossed this hurdle, Maedhros rubbed a small circle into the tense muscles on his father’s back, enjoying the small groans of relief as his father relaxed beneath his hands. “You will come to bed with me?”

“If your brothers still welcome me.” Fëanor’s eyes were clearer when they met Maedhros’ than they had been earlier, but fear still lurked in them.

Maedhros tightened his grip, lifting his father before he could fall into any further doubts and carrying him towards the door. “They will.”


End file.
